


OUAT! The Genetic Opera

by ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers/pseuds/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OUAT/Repo! The Genetic Opera crossover. In the aftermath of an organ failure epidemic, a single father must try to help his sick son survive his disease…doing whatever it takes to find a cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overtime

"Papa…"

Rumplestiltskin Gold closed his eyes, his hand still on the doorknob. He had been hoping to sneak out without his son’s knowledge, but Baelfire was too old for such tricks.

"You don’t really have to work tonight, do you?"

Rumplestiltskin turned wearily back, Baelfire watching him from the living room couch. Poor Bae had spent the majority of his life watching, his blood making him too sick to try and brave the world. Honestly a part of Rumplestiltskin preferred this; better that his son not realize that the world was a cruel ugly place full of death and decay. Better to let him watch the television and read books and observe things from his window than to get mixed up in the filth.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged helplessly.

"But Blind Belle’s on tonight!" Baelfire insisted, "You never miss her when she’s doing a performance!"

Rumplestiltskin winced. The temptation to pass the job on to another was overwhelming, a night on the sofa with his son listening to Belle sounding a lot better than being soaked in blood and deaf from screams.

"…record it for me?" He requested weakly.

Baelfire collapsed against the couch cushions, looking defeated. “You work all the time now,” he said softly, “You realize that, don’t you?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed, fidgeting with his cane, “I’m sorry, Bae… I wish I could stay, I really do. But there are so few surgeons that aren’t under GeneCo contract…”

"And you have to save the world, one organ at a time," Bae said, resigning himself as usual to his father’s work schedule. He examined him closely, "All these extra shifts… They aren’t because my birthday’s coming up, are they?"

"Remember your meds, Bae," Rumplestiltskin said, before stepping outside of their home.

His cane tapped rhythmically against the uneven sidewalk, hardly audible amidst the blaring sirens, the obnoxious Grave Dumpsters rattling along with their morbid loads, the adverts blaring GeneCo propaganda. Zydrate junkies regarded him with half-lidded eyes as he passed the alleyways and he avoided eye contact. If they tried to jump him for being a cripple they would be in for a nasty surprise, a dozen scalpels hidden all over his body.

Besides, even if his leg did throb occasionally from his brush with the epidemic, he wouldn’t shoot that trash into his body. As to why such a highly regarded surgeon hadn’t opted for a surgery of his own…well, he had his reasons.

Like a criminal on his way to the electric chair, Rumplestiltskin climbed the steps to Victor’s house. He hated his job, hated letting Baelfire believe he was just an ordinary independent surgeon that got calls from all hours of the day and night. But it was almost over. The fruits of his labor were almost ripe.

Victor briefly glanced up from his paperwork as Rumplestiltskin entered, going for the coat closet where he hid his uniform.

"Again?" He asked.

Rumplestiltskin sighed, hanging his cane up on a hook, “Again.”

Victor sighed back, “You _can_ pass on an assignment every now and then; she can’t fault you for wanting a night off.”

"Yeah, well, I need every job I can get right now."

He pulled out the apparatus and began attaching it to his bad leg. Victor watched him in contemplative silence.

"You want to buy it for him for his fourteenth birthday," he concluded.

Rumplestiltskin nodded, “I still have a week, and I almost have enough saved up. A few of the bigger jobs and I’ll finally have the money for my boy’s cure.”

"Unless GeneCo ups the price again," Victor warned.

He shook his head, fastening his blood repellant trenchcoat, “She can’t, not according to law, not in time to stop me.”

"And you really think Cora’s going to let her best agent go after he buys the cure for his son’s affliction?"

Rumplestiltskin hesitated, “…Phase 2’s a bit iffy,” he admitted.

He tugged on the boots and gloves, trying not to think about the founder of GeneCo. Their rocky past had never been completely forgotten, as she demonstrated while giving him the worst (though best paying) jobs. Eight year olds with no concept of the price of their manufactured organs. Single fathers who had just lost their jobs, begging for mercy and that they would pay their medical bills in full soon. Young women who had been selling their bodies but still couldn’t scrape enough up to cover the costs.

But the rule was set in stone; 90 days in full or the organs, no matter how necessary or unnecessary for survival, were to be repossessed by GeneCo. It was why Rumplestiltskin had waited fourteen years, so he wouldn’t be tangled up in one of the payment programs that were offered for surgeries and risk losing his son to a repo man.

Bae was all Rumplestiltskin had in this world. If he lost him, he would truly become dust.

"So what is it today? A toddler’s lung? An elderly man’s spleen?" Rumplestiltskin asked as he picked up his mask.

"You’re going to hate this one," Victor warned, handing Rumplestiltskin the clipboard. He glanced over the information.

A new mother who had gotten heart surgery but couldn’t make payments because she had been dealing with her own daughter’s hospital bills. Rumplestiltskin sighed.

"Always a mortality."

Victor nodded sympathetically, “Always a mortality.”

Rumplestiltskin pulled on his mask, turning to leave. Victor tried to stop himself from asking, but he couldn’t.

"…when are you going to tell Baelfire the truth? What you really do for a living?"

Rumplestiltskin glanced back at his old friend through the narrow viewing lens, the mask changing his voice into a static-laced growl.

"Bae never has to know the truth." Rumplestiltskin pulled out a scalpel and left for his mission, retreating into the numb part of his mind that made it capable for him to do these horrors.

The truth was, he didn’t save people’s lives with his work. He ended them.

If Rumplestiltskin had to tell Bae about being a repo man, then he’d have to explain how he was blackmailed into it. If he explained how he was blackmailed into it, it meant admitting the truth about Milah’s death. And he’d never be able to look Baelfire in the eye again if the truth about Milah came out.

He moved towards the address of his victim, lithe as a cat with the apparatus on his leg. One more week. One more week of every nasty job Cora could throw at him and his son would be cured. Bae was all that mattered. Nothing else. No one else.


	2. The Blind That Saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baelfire suffers a fit after learning some sad news about his idol, the genetic opera star Blind Belle.

Baelfire watched the screen in eager anticipation, trying to push his concerns about his father out of his mind. Having already been exposed to the plague, he wouldn’t catch it a second time, no matter how many sick folks he treated. As for wearing himself out with all of the shifts he was taking…that was a bigger concern.

The camera panned down as one of Cora Mills’ private limos pulled up, a nearby butler opening the door. And then she stepped out, with all the grace of a lady. Blind Belle.

Bae had watched her for as long as he could remember, nothing ever changing except for her eyes. As GeneCo’s prima donna, she was given the very latest in cornea technology, and now they seemed almost human, except for when she accessed an enhancement. He watched her eyes whirl and focus like the lens of a camera as she took in the crowd, smiling that warm loving smile that made Bae feel like he was safe.

Baelfire was embarrassed of his feelings towards Blind Belle, of what she meant to him. He was too old for such fantasies, but he couldn’t help but feel comforted by her. He often imagined meeting her, explaining his frustrations with his disease and how he worried about his papa. She would nod in that understanding way of hers, say all the right words to reassure him it would be okay. She’d be his friend, his confidant, and he’d never have to feel alone again. Maybe it was self projection, but sometimes Blind Belle appeared to him to be a nightingale in a cage, just waiting for the chance to fly.

And when she sang, everything was alright with the world.

It wasn’t just him, he knew. He saw how his papa watched her, enraptured by her. Baelfire fancied he had a crush on Blind Belle but when he brought it up, Rumplestiltskin vehemently denied it. Though if he didn’t have a crush on her, why did he watch her sing with such tenderness in his eyes?

Blind Belle made her way towards the platform for her pre-performance interview, a little blurb that sometimes told what the opera would be about but, more often than not, was just addressing gossip or GeneCo advertising. It was a chance to get a look at their unelected leader, the president of GeneCo Ms. Cora Mills.

Cora’s history since forming GeneCo was well-known, but nothing before then. She married a young lord, Sir Henry, and they had three children before he passed away (surgical complications, maybe a year ago). Only the daughter was theirs by birth; the two sons were adopted. Baelfire always thought Cora resembled a bird with her sharp features and focused eyes. A hawk, or a crow maybe.

The two women greeted each other on the platform, kissing each other’s cheeks and smiling. But Baelfire knew Blind Belle too well to believe her cordialness; it was her professional smile towards cruel reporters and unruly fans, not genuine. She settled into her spot to Cora’s left, slightly behind, with those caged bird eyes.

Bae sighed and sank back into the sofa. Cora usually dominated the pre-performance interview, Blind Belle occasionally speaking if she was addressed directly. Bae had gotten used to tuning out Cora, examining Blind Belle’s body language instead. Tonight she was on edge, as though waiting for a cue. Her steely blue eyes flicked through the crowd of journalists, prepared to speak when the moment presented itself.

The moment came in the form of the end of the interview.

"Blind Belle," A man from the front row asked the traditional closing question, "Do you think this will be your best performance yet?"

She focused on him, a sly smile quirking her lips, and Bae was ready for her usual “I will give it my all and hope it is”.

"Honestly," she began instead, throwing Baelfire off, "I hope tomorrow night will be my best performance yet, since it will be my last."

…what? She couldn’t mean… No!

"What do you mean by that?" The reporter echoed Baelfire’s thoughts.

Blind Belle just continued to smile, “I will be retiring from the stage. It’s been an honor-“

Bae’s heart pounded in his chest arrhythmically, roaring in his ears. His vision tinted red as the world spun.

"Blood pressure warning, medicate immediately," His monitor bracelet chirped, "Blood pressure warning, medicate immediately." He fumbled for the emergency relaxants in the compartment of the bracelet, but it was so hard to focus.

"…step down…daughter Regina…sorely missed…"

Baelfire felt himself pitching forward off the couch, and then all went black.

III

Hearts…so messy. But the plague seemed to love attacking them, so they were one of GeneCo’s bestsellers (as well as a common repossession). Blood continued to gush after Rumplestiltskin had smoothly cut out the organ, and he refused to watch the woman spasm as her life escaped through the gash in her chest. He simply cleaned off the heart, checked the serial number, and tucked it into the mini ice box that helped preserve it. He’d get the heart to Victor, dial Jefferson and-

"Blood pressure warning, medicate immediately. Blood pressure warning, medicate immediately."

Rumplestiltskin glanced down at his bracelet and sighed. He _told_ Bae to make sure he took his medication on time. He ignored the warning, continuing to pack up his things.

"Warning, patient in critical condition. Critical, critical."

Rumplestiltskin’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t just a missed medication… He bolted down the street, running as fast as he could back home.

III

He usually didn’t remember anything from his fits, but something had happened. As he swam in the murky waters between conscious and unconscious, he was aware of someone turning him over, a terrible voice like a demon’s yelling at him.

"Baelfire! Baelfire! It’s alright, I’ve got you, I’m here now…" And indeed, it did pull him up onto its lap, brushing his hair back with wet sticky fingers. With all the strength he possessed, he opened his eyes.

The unmistakeable mask of a repo man loomed above him, and Baelfire could only scream internally at the horror.

The second time he was conscious it was over. He ached everywhere, thirsty and weak and somehow in his own bed.

"Please, please don’t take him from me, I’ll do anything," he heard his father whisper desperately, "Just please don’t take my Bae… He’s all I have."

Baelfire opened his eyes to see his father at his bedside, hands clasped and praying to a god he had never specified.

"It’s okay, Papa," he croaked, reaching out, "I’m alright now." Rumplestiltskin jerked up, before taking the hand and kissing it fervently.

"I thought I was too late," he gasped, tears spilling out, "I thought you were, you were going to leave me."

"I’m not going to leave you, Papa," he promised, squeezing his hand weakly, "You’re all I have, too."

And then the news sank its teeth into him again; Blind Belle’s announcement. After tomorrow night, he’d never hear her sing again. Never see that warm smile. Never feel like everything was going to be alright just by hearing her speak.

Rumplestiltskin noticed the change, “…what triggered this, Bae?” He asked gently.

Baelfire swallowed roughly, “…Blind Belle’s retiring,” he admitted.

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened, “What?”

"She announced it tonight… Tomorrow’s her last show…"

Rumplestiltskin then had a very strange reaction. He _scowled_ at the news. “Idiot,” he muttered.

Baelfire wasn’t sure why he was calling her an idiot… Unless it was just because he was hurt. Bae thought retirement was something to look forward to, something to celebrate…unless you were one of the fans.

Baelfire remembered what he had heard during his fit…what he had seen…

"Papa…" He began hesitantly, knowing he needed to tell him but also knowing how it would scare him, "…there was a repo man in our house."

Rumplestiltskin was pulled out of his musings of Blind Belle, staring at Baelfire.

"…there was no repo man, Bae," he said slowly, deliberately.

Baelfire shook his head, “Yes there was, I saw him!”

"Do you really think I’d let a repo man into our home?"

"It’s not like they give you a choice."

"Baelfire, there was no repo man," he repeated in his "that’s final" voice. Bae leaned back against the pillows.

Rumplestiltskin’s bracelet chirped and he glanced down at it. He pressed a button to silence it before turning back to Baelfire, “You need to rest…try to keep your mind off of Belle,” he murmured softly.

Baelfire glanced at the balcony outside his bedroom, his only connection to the outside world besides television and books, “…will you take me to go see her perform?” He asked timidly.

He expected a quick reprimand, ready to point out that the genetic opera was actually very cheap to attend. But Rumplestiltskin hesitated, and Bae thought he might even say “yes”.

"You’re too sick to go outside, Baelfire," he said flatly.

"Even just for a little while? Just to see her last performance?"

Rumplestiltskin appeared torn, fighting for words. His bracelet started chirping again and he sighed.

"I need to take this," he said apologetically before stepping outside the room. Bae strained to hear the conversation, but all he could hear was his father’s side.

"Listen, I can’t do another tonight. Baelfire had an episode and I need to be with him… Yes, yes of course I remember, I never forget…" He was silent for a long while, and Bae wondered if he had hung up, "…fine. Send Victor the details… Oh aren’t we special? Fine, I’ll come by, if you aren’t too busy with your show… See you at the opera."

Baelfire expected his father’s nasty tone to continue when he appeared back in the bedroom, but he only looked miserable.

"Bae… I have to go out again," he whimpered. Baelfire tried not to let his disappointment show.

"It’s okay, Papa. I’ll be fine, I just need to rest."

Rumplestiltskin nodded, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

"Remember your breathing exercises if you get stressed out again."

"Yes, Papa."

"I gave you a double dose so you should be fine the rest of the night."

"Okay."

"I’m only a call away."

"I know."

He stared at his son, and Baelfire worried that he’d start crying again, “I love you.”

"I love you too."

"More than you will ever know," he took a few steps back, "…this will be all over soon," he murmured cryptically.

Baelfire watched his father reluctantly leave and only now noticed he didn’t have his cane with him, nor was he limping.

III

Sometimes Belle closed her eyes, trying to be truly blind again. To rely on touch to know what she was doing, on sound to know what was going on. It never lasted long; she had grown too used to having sight.

Still, the temptation to close her eyes against her own reflection was strong, instead of seeing the little robots settled into her sockets. GeneCo’s alternative technological organs had always intimidated her, but not as much as fake eyes that were hard to differentiate from real ones except for the lack of imperfections and the serial numbers. Belle slowly ran a brush through her long dark curls, thankful Genterns weren’t forced on her to help her prepare for the show. She took whatever freedom she was allowed in her slavery.

The curtain to her tent flew open.

"You ungrateful little trollop!"

Belle smirked at her reflection. She didn’t need sight nor sound to know who that was.

She casually turned around to face her boss, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her.

"What?" She feigned innocence, "I thought we agreed that I was going to finish my scheduled shows and then I was done."

"You weren’t supposed to announce it!" Cora hissed. Belle thought she resembled a toad when she got this mad.

"I was supposed to just _disappear_ after my last performance, without a warning to my fans? They’d worry,” she insisted.

Cora took a deep breath, and Belle was tempted to pout. Pissing Cora off was one of the few perks of her job; Cora wouldn’t dare hit her star so close to curtain call.

She exhaled slowly, succeeding in sounding calmer, “Doesn’t matter. It will just make Regina’s succession a bit less dramatic.”

Belle winced, “Are you really going to push that poor girl into singing professionally?”

"She’s been training with vocal specialists since she was seven."

"And you think she hasn’t changed her mind since?" Belle crossed her legs, "Why not make her your heir if you’re so determined for her greatness?"

"Besides the fact that I need someone needs to take your place after you throw away the life I so graciously gave you? My daughter hasn’t made the most practical decisions in the past…"

"Like falling in love?"

"With a boy that would only bring her down," Cora frowned, "I didn’t make the sacrifices I did in life so that she’d toss everything I’ve worked for out the window over something so frivolous."

"And you think your sons would do any better?" She queried, "The philanderer and the rage-aholic?"

Cora folded her hands in front of her, “It’s none of your business who my heir is,” she stated, “Especially considering your own deadline.”

Belle smirked, “Let the repo man come for me; I’m not frightened of him.”

A silence fell between the two women as Cora sized her up. A low rumble that could’ve been a chuckle emanated from her throat.

"You think you know who I’m going to send."

"I _know_ who you’re going to send; you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to twist the knife in a little deeper.”

"You think he’ll have mercy on you."

"Oh no, not if you’ll offer what I think you’ll offer. He’ll never choose his son over me. But…" Belle paused for emphasis. Cora raised an eyebrow, "…you better give him the cure if he kills me, though. Or else you will have a monster on your hands the likes of which no one has ever seen before."

IIIII

Baelfire, stirred from his slumber, lay completely still. Someone was out on his balcony. He stared at the shadow in horror as it moved, fumbling with the lock. Baelfire tried to locate the nearest possible weapon, but the closest thing to him was a book. Maybe if he threw it hard enough…

He squeezed his eyes shut as the shadow successfully unlocked the door, stepping inside the bedroom.

"Kid?" The stranger whispered. He didn’t move, "Baelfire…"

He couldn’t pretend not to hear his own name uttered. Baefire shot upright, feeling a wave of dizziness but the medication keeping his heart from pounding too fast. A man was standing over him, his head cocked to the side quizzically. It wasn’t the repo man again; it was someone else, a man with spiked hair, pale skin, and a scarf tied tightly around his neck.

Once he determined that Baelfire was awake, he nudged the bed with his knee, “C’mon, up and dressed. We’ve gotta go.”

"Go? Where? Who are you? How do you know who I am?" Baelfire stuttered out.

The stranger sighed, “Your pops and I go way back. He asked me to watch you while he went out and refused to tell me where the body was until he got back. Luckily, Victor wasn’t so tight-lipped.” He nudged the bed again, “So let’s get a move on; I’ve still gotta watch you, and other dealers will be buzzing around that corpse like flies pretty soon.”

Baelfire glanced down at the man’s belt. The tools of the trade were there; a gun, empty vials, fresh needles.

"You’re a graverobber," Baelfire gasped.

The man frowned, “My name’s Jefferson,” he said softly.


End file.
